


a word you say

by ShippingEverything



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Letters, M/M, Reading Aloud, The Ravening War, just barely but i'd say it counts, mentions of donetta and the rocks sisters but not enough to be worth tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: “I don’t think I have the clearance to read royal correspondence.”“Of course you do, I trust you.”Calroy’s blush blooms, immediate and uncontrollable, at the easy surety with which Amethar trusts; Calroy will have to mention this in his next missive to Donetta thatthePrince of Candia believes in him so wholeheartedly that it makes Calroy’s chest flutter with- disgust, surely, that Amethar is this ridiculous, that he’d put his life and his family’s secrets into the hands of a man he barely knows.or: wartime letter reading asmr
Relationships: Calroy Cruller/Amethar Rocks
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	a word you say

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a 90 minute prompt and ive been unable to finish it for like A Month. ugh. anyway!!! i defeated writers block and its DONE and HERE now. please enjoy this silly silly fic where i imply rococoa/scravoya and calroy reads to his mostly illiterate future king
> 
> title from i dont know how by ricky montgomery, please enjoy!

Calroy likes to think that he’s fairly adaptable. Donetta, gem though she is, tends to accuse him of impulsivity, but he just thinks of it as a particular skill for rolling with the punches. Unfortunately, even his most trained skills are easily derailed by Amethar Rocks.

“You can’t _what_?” Calroy asks, more out of shock than in search of confirmation. Amethar has the decency to look chagrined, thank god -- if he hadn’t then Calroy might’ve actually taken the dagger from his boot and stabbed him, no matter how it’d affect his and Donetta’s plans.

“It’s- okay, I know how it sounds, but it’s not that big a deal,” Amethar says. He pauses to bite his lip and then continues quickly, like _this_ is the more important secret, “I can read a _little_ , but it’s hard so I just never learned more.”

Calroy didn’t have the chance to learn to read until he was nearly a teenager and his father was rewarded with his barony, didn’t have a gaggle of overbearing older siblings who would chase him down when he skipped lessons or a doting mother who helped hide him. Calroy thinks, not for the first time, that Amethar Rocks was placed on this earth specifically to antagonize him.

“Never? You _never_ thought that it might be useful to know how to read at twenty-five?” Calroy asks, snippier than he’d usually let himself get, not that Amethar notices; the prince simply shrugs.

“Citrina always gets on me about it, but Rococoa says it doesn’t matter. I’m fifth in line, do you know how many things would have to go wrong for that to ever be an issue?”

 _Exactly five_ , Calroy thinks but does not say. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and does not stab the prince. After a moment, he nods at the letter Amethar holds and asks, “And Rococoa can’t assist you?”

“Sapphria said Rococoa wasn’t allowed to read it,” Amethar says with an eye roll.

“I don’t think I have the clearance to read royal correspondence.”

“Of course you do, I trust you.”

Calroy’s blush blooms, immediate and uncontrollable, at the easy surety with which Amethar trusts; Calroy will have to mention this in his next missive to Donetta that _the_ Prince of Candia believes in him so wholeheartedly that it makes Calroy’s chest flutter with- disgust, surely, that Amethar is this ridiculous, that he’d put his life and his family’s secrets into the hands of a man he barely knows.

“Alright,” Calroy says, “I’ll do it.”

The first thing Calroy notices about the letter are the dark, sure swirls of Princess Sapphria’s script, and then he recognizes the weight and look of Carnish paper, makes a note of it; his Ceresian allies might find it useful to know that Princess Sapphria is in the Meat Lands. The letter inside is short. Calroy clears his throat and begins to read,

“‘Amethar, sorry for the inconvenience, but youngest siblings need their secrets sometimes. I wonder, are you reading this by yourself, or did you ask your little friend to help? I hope it’s the latter. One of these days, I’m going to meet that boy; you can’t let Citrina and Rococoa have all the fun,’” Calroy reads carefully, more aware than he’s ever been of how his voice drags over the Princess’ words. He pauses as Amethar, in his peripheral vision, begins to slump, his shoulders rising in embarrassment. Calroy raises an eyebrow and decides to prod a little. “Does she mean me? Am I the ‘little friend’?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s,” Amethar cuts himself off, looks away from Calroy in the way he always does when he’s about to lie terribly, and continues, “They don’t mean anything by it, it’s just something they started doing. Sisters, you know?”

Calroy nods though he very much does not know, still unsure whether to feel insulted by the implications of ‘little friend’ or pleased that Amethar talks about him enough that he has his own moniker. He goes back to reading instead of sorting through any of these feelings, marking them firmly for later. “‘I’m writing because you’ll never believe who I’ve run into: Scravoya! The steak woman that beat Rococoa in that tournament, you know the one, and _she_ remembers Rococoa too! Do me a favor and ask Rococoa about her? As subtly as possible, obviously, you know how she gets about meddling.’ I’m sure the General isn’t one for...”

Calroy trails off as he looks up from the letter, words slipping into silence as he meets Amethar’s eyes. Calroy has seen Amethar in many situations -- the spark of pride as he cuts through his enemies on the battlefield, the bright joy when General Rococoa praises him, the morose tilt to them when he says a final goodbye to a friend -- but Amethar’s gaze have never seemed as striking as it does now, focused entirely and intensely on Calroy. Calroy swallows, thickly, watches as those dark eyes flick down to follow the motion.

Calroy’s mouth, against all odds, feels _drier_.

When Calroy clears his throat, Amethar jerks backward like it’s a blow and Calroy isn’t sure whether or not he’s grateful for the extra inch gained between them, for all it feels like a gulf. “Sorry, I just-”

“No, no, you’re doing a great job,” Amethar assures Calroy, though he still blinks twice as if dazed, “My fault. Where were you? Meddling, right?”

“Right. I can’t imagine meddling in the General’s affairs.”

“She’s just Rococoa,” Amethar shrugs, the same shrug he uses when people try to call him _Prince_ , the same shrug given to anyone foolish enough to question why a royal was fighting alongside the rabble. “She doesn’t _like_ it when Sapphria meddles but it’s not she can stop her, Sapph’s sneaky.”

Calroy frowns, trying to connect the socialite he’s heard rumors about with the sneaky, clever older sister that Amethar paints a picture of, but clears his throat again and continues reading, “‘Scravoya is a close friend to Basha, so if Rococoa still cares about her loss, a rematch could be arranged. A friendly match for solidarity’s sake could be useful for Meat Lands-Candia relations. I’m sure you’ll figure something out, so let me know. Yours, Sapphria.’”

“That’s it?” Amethar asks. Calroy nods, rereading the short letter.

“I’m not sure why the General couldn’t have seen this,” Calroy says, playing confused in hopes of getting some more information, “It concerns her, doesn’t it?”

“It does, but it doesn’t,” Amethar says, leaning closer to Calroy to squint down at the letter as though he’ll suddenly become literate. “I don’t think Rococoa would consider planning a spar as _meddling_ but… I don’t know, Sapphria’s always been better at the whole diplomatic thing. Maybe it’s politics?”

“Well, are you going to do it? Ask Rococoa about the steak woman?”

“Sapphria asked me to,” Amethar says like it’s a given that he would listen to her. “Besides, Rococoa _was_ stuck on that loss, before, it was all she talked about for a _year_. I think she might’ve been the first person to beat Rococoa, it doesn’t usually happen; you’ve seen her fight.”

He says it like it’s an explanation on its own and it is, a little. Calroy has, after all, been witness to the unparalleled strength and control that Rococoa Rocks fights with, but Amethar talks as though she is untouchable, invincible, while Calroy thinks no such thing; he knows that even the thickest tree can be uprooted with enough time and leverage.

“She must’ve been quite the woman,” Calroy says, instead of voicing any of his thoughts. Amethar hums affirmatively.

“I don’t know _how_ I’ll ask without Rococoa catching on, but-”

“I could help,” Calroy offers. If a single letter has given Calroy such insight into the Candian Royals’ oversea plans, he can only imagine what he could get if Amethar continued to get letters from Princess Sapphria that required his assistance. It’s good motivation for Calroy to form a vested interest in Amethar’s little task going well. “The Meat Lands aren’t officially allied with us, as it stands, but if your sister is there, surely asking about them and your family’s past interactions wouldn’t be seen as too odd.”

“Cal, you’re a genius,” Amethar beams radiantly enough that it warms Calroy’s chest, and Calroy’s automatically mirroring a smile back before he can think about it. Amethar’s contagious glee can be incredibly useful for reactions, Calroy thinks. “You’ll help me write back to Sapph too, right?”

“Of course.”

“Seriously, you’re the best,” Amethar says again as he stands, and before Calroy can decide between accepting bashfully or sheepishly redirecting the compliment, Amethar is ducking back down and pressing a kiss to Calroy’s cheek.

Calroy’s senses narrow to the singular point of contact and the moment stretches like taffy, an eternity in a half-second. When it’s over -- _Already, finally_ , Calroy finds himself thinking, contradictorily -- Calroy is frozen even as Amethar leaps into motion, muttering to himself about sisters as he pulls Sapphria’s letter from Calroy’s shock-numbed fingers and rushes out of the room, whirlwinding around like nothing's changed, as though he can’t feel the same tangible shift that Calroy does.

 _What_ was _that?_ Calroy wonders, his now empty hand drifting unbidden to his face. He presses his palm to the spot Amethar’s lips had touched and is amazed to find it unmarred, indistinguishable from the rest of his face, _normal_. It feels wrong; Calroy’s physical form shouldn’t stay the same as his mind sticks to that instant of connection, as his thoughts circle around the branding iron heat of Amethar’s mouth against his skin. Calroy’s heart stutters in his chest as he recalls how the corners of their lips had touched ever so slightly.

Calroy takes a deep, steadying breath, and firmly ignores the way he can’t force the twitching smile on his face into impassivity. This, he decides, _doesn’t_ need to go in his letter to Donetta.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much for reading, comments and kudos and bookmarks DO fuel my calrot but i promise you, it's also running just fine on its own, i cannot stop it <3 
> 
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